


fall with me

by amjnyard



Series: you are real [2]
Category: All For The Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Sexual Assault, Implied/Referenced Suicide, M/M, Soft Neil Josten/Andrew Minyard
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-19
Updated: 2018-03-19
Packaged: 2019-04-04 12:46:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,923
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14020554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amjnyard/pseuds/amjnyard
Summary: Andrew’s falling.He’s both falling falling falling into a black abyss and being pinned down. Hands he knows he doesn’t want hold his arms down, trail over his body, making him nauseous. He thrashes and thrashes, slipping further into that black place. A place he knows he can escape to, can bite his lip bloody and hide until it ends. He wants to scream, wants to yell so loud his throat is rubbed raw, wants to punch and cut and hurt and cry.Maybe he just wants it all to end.The hands seem to pick up their pace, and Andrew falls faster, almost completely ensconced in the blackness of the abyss awaiting him. That’s when he hears it. Everything seems to slow for a moment. “Andrew,” the voice calls out and Andrew’s being pulled up now. No, no, no this is wrong he thinks. “Andrew,” the voice repeats again, and Andrew sits straight up in bed.Neil is staring at him, safely on the other side of the bed, his cheek pink and a worried look on his face. “Andrew,” Neil repeats. “You’re crying,” he points out dumbly, like he doesn’t know what else to say, and Andrew drops his face into his hands. He can still feel the hands gripping his skin and the abyss, and now, the wetness on his face.





	fall with me

**Author's Note:**

> wassup my dudes if u clicked on this sorry for the angsty beginning n i hope you enjoy <3

Andrew’s falling. 

He’s both falling falling falling into a black abyss and being pinned down. Hands he knows he doesn’t want hold his arms down, trail over his body, making him nauseous. He thrashes and thrashes, slipping further into that black place. A place he knows he can escape to, can bite his lip bloody and hide until it ends. He wants to scream, wants to yell so loud his throat is rubbed raw, wants to punch and cut and hurt and cry. 

Maybe he just wants it all to end. 

The hands seem to pick up their pace, and Andrew falls faster, almost completely ensconced in the blackness of the abyss awaiting him. That’s when he hears it. Everything seems to slow for a moment. “Andrew,” the voice calls out and Andrew’s being pulled up now. No, no, no this is wrong he thinks. “Andrew,” the voice repeats again, and Andrew sits straight up in bed. 

Neil is staring at him, safely on the other side of the bed, his cheek pink and a worried look on his face. “Andrew,” Neil repeats. “You’re crying,” he points out dumbly, like he doesn’t know what else to say, and Andrew drops his face into his hands. He can still feel the hands gripping his skin and the abyss, and now, the wetness on his face. 

He shakes his head, drops his hands, stares up at Neil. His knuckles hurt and the mark on Neil’s face are telling him a story of what must have happened. He’s clear over on the other side of the bed, hair ruffled, and face open and distraught. 

Hysteria wells up in Andrew. The urge to laugh and cry and hurt are all mixed up in him and he doesn’t know what to do, so he laughs and once he starts, he can’t stop. “Andrew,” Neil says again, sounding like he wants to come to Andrew but doesn’t dare. Andrew doesn’t blame him. He’s not sure what he’s capable of right in this moment, not with the ghosts of past demons crawling under his skin and the still-present urge to just fade away. 

He’s not looking at Neil, so he doesn’t see when Neil gets up, just hears him leave the room. Andrew drops his head back in his hands, clenching his hair in his fists. He takes a deep breath, like Bee tells him to, and another and another. By the time Neil returns, Andrew’s fingers hurt from being wound in his hair so tightly but he doesn’t feel like he’s moments from falling into pieces. 

Neil hands him a cup, and Andrew takes a long drink from it without even checking what it is. The sting of hot black coffee sears his throat, but Andrew welcomes the pain. Sometimes, Neil puts an ice cube in the drink when he wants Andrew to not burn his mouth, but Andrew appreciates the heat. He looks up, finding Neil back in his spot at the edge of the bed. 

He thinks someone else might ask him to explain, but Neil simply sips at his drink, his eyes steady on Andrew. Are you okay, he seems to be asking, and Andrew simply stares back, the best approximation of, Yes I will be, he can give. “I can sleep on the couch,” Neil offers, and Andrew thinks about the idea of another body in bed with him right now. He nods, and Neil doesn’t look upset or disappointed or resigned, just nods once, waiting to see if Andrew wants to give his cup up. 

But Andrew grasps onto it like a lifeline, clearing his throat just before Neil reaches the door. “Did I hurt you?” He asks, his throat sore like he’s been screaming. Which maybe he has. 

Neil looks over his shoulder, his face already starting to bruise. He looks younger than usual, like the question has taken him by surprise. Andrew hates himself in that moment. “I’m fine,” he says, like Andrew would be able to believe that. “Really.” He doesn’t quite smile at Andrew, but the expression he gives him makes the weight sitting on Andrew’s chest lighten just a hair. 

Neil closes the door behind him before Andrew can reach out, force him to stay, hear the count of Neil’s breaths to fall asleep again. Instead, he rolls onto his back, stares at the ceiling and starts counting to a hundred. He doesn’t particularly want to go back to sleep, not by himself anyway, where the uneasiness and nausea lurk, just waiting for another chance to drag him down. 

This is how it goes, sometimes. Andrew’s not sure why, just that it is. He and Neil have a developed a routine. Sometimes, he can brush it off, pull Neil back to bed, swallow his memories in the sound of Neil’s breathing and the wind blowing against the window. But sometimes, Andrew thinks he would die if not for the space. He thinks he would choke on the shared breaths and the rustle of another body against the sheets. 

And so he stares at the ceiling, counting back down from a hundred and tries to forget who he is. 

They don't talk about it the next morning. Kevin doesn’t mention Neil sleeping on the couch and Neil doesn’t mention anything either. They move on, but Andrew doesn’t forget the Incident. It remains an incident in his mind, because he’s never physically attacked Neil, not like this. 

Sure, he may have socked him in the stomach a few times when they were first getting to know each other, but Andrew’s never wanted to hurt Neil, not while they were together. He puts on a good face, acts like he’s seconds away from strangling him at any second. Both he and Neil know he’d rather make out with Neil than murder him, and that’s never really been a question. 

Andrew logically knows he didn’t mean to hurt Neil. 

Still, he curls his hand into a fist and wonders how to fit these two pieces of his life together. He wonders if it’s always going to be like this, constantly worrying about hurting the one person he doesn’t want to hurt. Andrew thinks he would be sick. So he tries to think of solutions, but only one thing comes to mind. 

Neil’s slumped on the couch, his eyes glued to the TV, but he looks bored out of his mind. Nicky was here a couple of hours ago and he left on some pointless reality TV show. Apparently Neil’s too lazy to get up and grab the remote, three feet away. It’s one of those lazy Sundays, Neil’s putting his homework off until today and Andrew doesn’t feel as alert as he’d like to. 

When he takes a seat, Neil’s rolls his head to get a better look at Andrew, his brow furrowed. “You can’t tell me you’re interested in Million Dollar Listing,” Neil scoffs. “I think I’m actually losing brain cells watching this.” 

Andrew resists the urge to roll his eyes, slumping even further down on the couch. The door is locked, the sun is shining and Neil is warm next to him. Andrew’s not sure if he’s ever felt safe, but he might right now. The next thing he knows, he’s laying flat on the couch, a pillow tucked under his head and Neil’s talking on the phone somewhere to the right of him. 

Andrew blinks, once, twice and then rolls over. The sun has filtered down, still coating the room in a sheen of gold. Neil’s in the windowsill, phone pressed to his ear, cigarette smoke drifting out of the window. Neil’s voice rolls over him, low and raspy like he just woke up and Andrew thinks he could listen to Neil talk for the rest of his life. 

“I don’t know where Kevin is,” he’s saying, and Andrew blinks syruppy slow. Neil glances over at him, the blue of his eyes visible even from where Andrew’s staring at him. He doesn’t give any indication he’s seen Andrew and turns back to the window. Andrew thinks absently that Neil’s hair looks like fire in the sun. 

Neil sighs, long and heavy. “No, I’m not going to call him.” He stubs out his cigarette and Andrew feels seconds away from slipping asleep. Neil scoffs harshly, and Andrew opens his eyes again to see Neil’s fist clenching around the sill of the window. “No,” Neil snaps, sounding more irritated than warranted. 

Sleep is slipping through Andrew’s fingers and the more he blinks, the more he’s sure Neil’s holding his phone. If it were anyone else, he would be mad, but right now, all he can do is stare at Neil’s profile. Neil sighs again, heavy, and says, “Fine,” snapping Andrew’s phone shut without saying goodbye. He turns his head into the dying sun and Andrew thinks wildly he doesn’t want to die. 

Dying would mean losing Neil and losing this... thing, tentative as it may be. Andrew’s familiarizing himself with the absence of apathy, with caring about living or dying. Some days it hurts, like a knife is being stabbed in his stomach. Other days, like today, Andrew thinks he needs feeling like he needs to breathe. 

Neil’s looking his way again and Andrew pushes himself up, running hands through his hair. Neil gives a half-grin, wry, and tosses Andrew his phone. He watches it drop to the sofa, making no move to grab it. 

“Nicky called,” Neil speaks, like that explains anything. Andrew raises an eyebrow, and Neil gets up from the windowsill. He doesn’t move, but Neil sits beside him anyway, their knees knocking together. “He wanted to know if we wanted to watch a movie.” The haze of confusion lifts and Andrew finds himself not caring. 

He’s more interested in sliding his hands underneath Neil’s shirt, feeling the familiar scarred skin that pulls in his gut. This is familiar and Andrew feels grounded. Neil is warm and solid, but he goes pliant under Andrew’s hands, letting him direct Neil where he wants. “Yes,” he murmurs before Andrew can open his mouth, and he ducks in to kiss Neil hard, punishing. 

Neil arches up into him, warm welcoming willing, and Andrew brushes his hands down Neil’s body. This is real and Neil is eager under his hands. The rest of the night floats by in a tangle of hands clutched in clothing and Neil trying to sit up to make dinner and Kevin eventually banging on the door ordering to be let in. 

That night, Andrew settles in his bed back to the wall and watches as Neil adjusts his sweatpants lower on his hips. When Neil meets his eyes, he doesn’t move, but watches as Neil crawls into his bed anyways. 

He settles across from Andrew, close enough to touch but not touching. He’s staring across the bed, eyes glacial. “I can leave whenever you want,” he mutters, blinking twice. Andrew simply stares him down, waiting for Neil to get the message. Finally closing his eyes, Andrew watches Neil’s face smooth out. The furrows in his brow fade and his face eases into something calmer and younger. 

Andrew resists the urge to reach out and drift his fingers across Neil’s forehead, something fiercely protective rising up in his chest. Neil shifts slightly, a sigh escaping his mouth. Andrew closes his eyes, finding himself counting Neil’s breaths. He drifts off, the steady rush of Neil's life next to him and the soft turn of the fan echoing in his ears.

**Author's Note:**

> part 2 of my series and if you liked pls leave some comments n stuff below!


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